


Pomodoro Technique

by inlovewithnight



Category: Deadpool (2016)
Genre: Other, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inlovewithnight/pseuds/inlovewithnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to celebrate National Best Friends Day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pomodoro Technique

Vanessa dropped into Wade’s lap and pushed her phone against his chest. “It’s time.”

“Time to make the doughnuts? Time to get a new watch? Miller time? Christmastime?” Wade took a breath. “Stop me whenever.”

“That’s enough,” she said, and held the phone up for him to see. “Time to pick the next holiday for us to warp into a themed sexual encounter.”

“Ooh, my favorite time.” Wade wrapped his arm around her waist and squinted at the screen. “What are my choices?”

“Well, if we’re going for the next week or so…” She scrolled and tilted her head. “National Yo-Yo Day, Name Your Poison Day, Best Friends Day, Corn On The Cob Day. I’m vetoing that one.”

He nuzzled at her neck. “I’ll put some corn in your cob, baby.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I vetoed it. Come on. Pick.”

He sighed and looked at the phone again. “Well, we should probably skip poison after the dried toad secretion incident.”

“I told you not to do that.”

“It was supposed to give me a life-changing erection.”

“It almost gave you a life-ending heart attack.”

“I didn’t _know_ that was going to happen. What kind of weird shit could we do with a yo-yo?”

Vanessa caught his hand between her thighs and pressed them together. “You’re not seeing if you can fit one inside me. J’refuse.”

“You already used your veto! Not fair.” He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Best Friends Day has some potential, though.”

She frowned. “Baby, I know I’m not your best friend.”

“No, of course not.” Wade kissed her neck. “Weasel is.”

“Weasel.” Vanessa sat still for a moment. “Yeah, okay.”

“Really? You’re up for it?”

“Yeah.” She twisted to face him and smiled. “Of all the people you hang out with on a regular basis, Weasel showers the most regularly and is the least likely to stab us and leave us to bleed out in our bed.”

Wade beamed at her. “And if that’s not romance, what is?”

“Then it’s settled. Best Friends Day threesome with Weasel.”

“Cool. You want to tell him or should I?”

“Wade!” Vanessa shook her head and slid out of his lap. “We are going to be _classy_ about this.”

“We are?”

“Of course.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and went into the kitchen. “We’ll send him an e-vite.”

**

“It’s not that I’m not flattered,” Weasel said, sitting across from them at the frozen yogurt place. “It’s that I’m afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Wade frowned at him. “I told you, Wease, modern antibiotics are a miracle and that rash is _gone_.”

“Yeah. You did. You also showed me pictures. Notice that I’m not saying thank you.”

“We don’t bite,” Vanessa said, giving him a wide-eyed look as she brought her spoon to her lips. 

“Unless I ask, right?” Weasel made a face. “That’s such an old line.”

“No, even if you ask, we won’t. Someone—” Vanessa swung her spoon to point at Wade and then dipped it back into the dish, “—didn’t get his tetanus shot.”

“Or kennel cough.” It was Wade’s turn to widen his eyes and stare at Weasel. “I’m a monster.”

“Yeah. Okay. That’s cute.” Weasel shifted in his chair and took another bite of his own yogurt. “But what I’m really scared of is the two of you, like, injuring me through some kind of complicated sex position or kinky practice I know nothing about.”

“We can be vanilla,” Wade said. “We can totally be vanilla. Vanessa. Tell him. We haven’t done anything kinky in, like, weeks.”

“Since the thing with the octopus,” Vanessa agreed. “We’re totally mainstream. All the whips and chains are in storage.”

“Except the one that’s really useful for getting mugs off the top shelf,” Wade said. “You can stick it right through the handles and just slide them down, it’s great.”

Vanessa nodded. “Just don’t think too hard about where the handle’s been.”

Weasel put his spoon down. “I know you two think you’re really charming with this whole witty banter thing you do… and you are, actually, it’s adorable, I kind of just want to hug you both.”

“That can be arranged,” Wade said.

“My point is, I want a safeword and a fully negotiated contract before I go to any second location with you two nymphomaniacs.”

Wade and Vanessa looked at each other for a moment, faces twitching slightly.

“Oh, look, secret language conducted entirely by eyebrows,” Weasel said. “So fucking cute. I hate you both.”

They turned to face him again, and Wade reached across the table to take his hand. “Weasel, my nervous friend, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“We won’t even make you sign the contract in blood,” Vanessa said. “That’s how much we like you.”

Weasel sighed. “I’m not gonna survive this, am I?”

“If you do, your life will never be the same, buddy.” Wade bounced out of his chair. “I’m gonna see if they have crayons at the counter so we can write up this contract. Grab a napkin, Nessa. Shit is on.”

**

“So how are we gonna do this?” Weasel asked, sitting down gingerly on the edge of Wade and Vanessa’s mattress. “Eiffel Tower? Alabama Hawkeye? Uptown Garbage Chute?”

“You made two of those up.” Wade tugged his shirt off and tossed it onto the floor. “Vanessa, what do you think? Regular, free-for-all, or Pomodoro?”

“Ooh.” Vanessa put her hands on her hips. “We haven’t done Pomodoro in ages.”

“Isn’t Pomodoro a time-management thing?” Weasel asked, giving Wade a suspicious look and wiggling out of his own t-shirt.

“It is, good job, buddy.” Wade’s pants made an energetic arc through the air. “Also the Italian word for tomato.”

“The tomato-shaped timer used is where the time-management technique got its name,” Vanessa said, her dress quickly following Wade’s pants. 

“Doesn’t she have a great exposition voice?” Wade said, flinging himself onto the bed. “Narrate me, baby.”

“Wade and I are too hard on small appliances to actually have a kitchen timer,” she continued, slipping out of her panties.

Weasel’s hands paused in undoing his fly. “You use them as sex toys, don’t you.”

“No comment,” Wade said quickly. “Anyway, for this we just use Vanessa’s phone with the alarm set to go off every five minutes.”

“I know I’m going to regret asking this,” Weasel said, finally getting his pants off, “but what happens when the alarm goes off?”

Wade smiled. “We switch.”

“Switch what?”

“Which person is getting the attention.”

Weasel shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

Vanessa climbed onto the bed and stretched out on her back. “The idea is, one person gets stimulated until the alarm goes off, then we switch. Since we’ve got three people instead of two, it’s two-on-one for five minutes, then switch, so each person is only getting naughty-bits attention every ten minutes.”

Weasel blinked slowly. “How is that any fun?”

“Oh, my basement-dwelling, booze-watering-down friend.” Wade beamed at him. “You have no idea.”

“Enough warm-up,” Vanessa said, stretching one leg out to kick Wade’s shoulder. “Let’s start with both of you on me.”

“Sure thing, babe. Wease, you want up top or down below?”

“Well… um…” Weasel blinked and leaned in closer to Vanessa. “’scuse my French, but is your pussy hair shaved into a cactus?”

“It is! Good eye.” Vanessa tapped him on the nose. “Wade did it for me.”

“It’s not, like, a warning, is it? Like, there aren’t spikes on the inside?”

Wade swatted at the back of Weasel’s head. “My god, man.”

“It’s a valid question,” Vanessa said. “Wade, you were in there most recently, any spikes?”

“Nope, just sweet warm honey-dripping goodness.”

“There you go.” Vanessa tapped at her phone and dropped it on the bedside table. “Five minutes are a go. Get to work, you useless bald monkeys. Pleasure me.”

**

The sign on Sister Margaret’s door that night was not received well by the clientele.

_Closed due to groin injury. Will probably be a few days. Direct all complaints to Wade Wilson._

Beneath that, in crayon: _I told you to stretch first! It’s the last five minutes that’ll kill ya, buddy!_

In the first handwriting again: _Fuck you._

And written neatly in lipliner: _You already did, that’s how you hurt yourself. You both owe me another five minutes._


End file.
